


Take A Load Off

by unwinding_fantasy



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom!Ignis, Community: FFXV_Kinkmeme, Crushes, Fuck Or Die, Gratuitous Smut, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, PWP, PWP without Porn, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Requited Love, Secret Crush, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sex Pollen, Shameless Smut, Smut, top!prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 03:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14252154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwinding_fantasy/pseuds/unwinding_fantasy
Summary: Ignis Scientia, genius strategist, astute diplomat and most trusted advisor to the King-in-waiting, the man who Citadel staff secretly sneered was colder than the Glacian herself, the man who prides himself on maintaining control of any given situation… is sporting a raging hard-on. In public.Ignis digs his nails into the undersides of his palms and prays for death.





	Take A Load Off

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless indulgence for the [kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4747.html?thread=9477515#cmt9477515) prompt: "Ignis gets hit with sex pollen and suddenly needs dick like. RIGHT. NOW. The most desperate, flushed, feverish Ignis, begging to get fucked, drooling for the D, and no, he doesn't care that he hasn't thorougly showered or they're out in public or whatever, he wants it and he wants it RIGHT. FUCKING. NOW but he also has JUST enough self-control not to shove someone down on the ground and take what he wants. Which means the other person has to take the lead. And they definitely aren't horribly turned on by watching their very composed, proper, honestly kinda prissy friend abandon nearly all of his dignity and (semi-)voluntarily debase himself by literally begging for their dick. Not. At. All."

Everybody has moments in their life they’d prefer to never relive. Ignis is exceptionally lucky in that he only has three: the time he tripped and spilled last decade’s vintage down the front of the visiting Tenebraean diplomat’s shirt; when he baked Noct a three tiered cake for his eighteenth birthday only to discover the Prince was allergic to raspberries; and now this. Ignis Scientia, genius strategist, astute diplomat and most trusted advisor to the King-in-waiting, the man who Citadel staff secretly sneered was colder than the Glacian herself, the man who prides himself on maintaining control of any given situation…

…is sporting a raging hard-on.

In _public_.

Ignis digs his nails into the undersides of his palms and prays for death.

It had begun as a mere itchy kind of warmth, something he’d attributed to the Veserpool’s humid clime. Within an hour though the warmth had upgraded to a bordering-uncomfortable heat and every brush of clothing against skin and thrumming of insect wings and sussurus of reeds was impossible to ignore. Hypersensitivity like the superpowers in the comic books Noct and Prompto shared, and that wasn’t such a terrible thing until two hours in, whereupon Ignis’ thoughts took a dive towards the indecent. Hour three and he was definitely fraying at the fringes. To his absolute horror, Ignis could feel himself swelling inside his briefs. Who would have supposed there’d come a day when a more demanding presence than Noct would assail Ignis’ life? Despite the good two hours of daylight left, Ignis had called for camp, insisting they’d had a long day and could use the extra rest.

“Need a hand there, Igster?”

Ignis’ heart leaps. From the opposite side of the cooking station, Prompto is gazing at him with an earnest expression, the kind that Ignis’ brain unhelpfully notes would look wonderful if it were directed somewhat lower. Prompto gestures towards the half-chopped Leide potatoes and Ignis forces his fists to unclench, hoping the sheen of sweat over his face can be passed off as a by-product of the weather. “Thank you, Prompto, but I have matters under control,” he lies, acutely aware of the violet tinge of Prompto’s eyes, the way moisture is beading on his sizeable biceps.

The blonde hesitates. “You sure? I’ve never seen a guy cop a face full of malboro toxin and just walk away. Thought you might be dizzy at least.” Prompto’s pink tongue drags over his lips before he draws his full lower lip into his mouth and Ignis’ jeans feel two sizes too small. He dabs at the nape of his neck with a pocket handkerchief, hoping he doesn’t sound as strained as he feels when he replies, “Your concern is appreciated but this meal is simple enough even for the culinary expertise of our Prince.”

“If you say so,” Prompto chirps, all summer cheer and sweetness, “Lemme know if you change your mind.” He lifts two fingers in salute before waltzing off, whistling that chocobo song he’s so fond of, leaving behind the musky, slightly sour smell of sweat…. which, for some reason, is infinitely appealing to Ignis. He gulps. The stifling climate mightn’t be particularly comfortable but it’s doing wonders for Prompto’s physique, t-shirt clinging to his clavicle in a very becoming manner, and Ignis shoves aside the potatoes and starts on the onions in the hopes that the sting may distract from whatever this is. Certainly, it’s not the first time he’s admired Prompto – the blonde is effortlessly charming because he thinks he isn’t – but it’s the first time he’s had such a potent reaction outside the privacy of a hotel bathroom or beaten caravan. Out here in the open, Gladio pitching the tent while Noct and Prompto settle together to go over Prompto’s photos, Ignis daren’t concentrate on the perfect smattering of freckles across the bridge of Prompto’s nose. Can’t afford to consider the sharp jut of Prompto’s hipbone, the way the sunset casts his hair in molten shades, how his quick fingers play over his camera.

Pain lances through Ignis’ hand. “Hell,” he hisses, sticking his finger, the one he’s just managed to slice with his kitchen knife, between his lips. This, it turns out, is an honest mistake: the sucking sensation shoots straight to his groin and a breathy sigh escapes the depths of his throat. Ignis thought he was embarrassed before but that’s nothing compared to the way he feels now as he catches Prompto’s keen gaze across the campsite. The blonde stares at him like he can hear every illicit thought skittering around Ignis’ brain and then. Then Prompto.

Prompto is _blushing_. Oh _hell._

It takes every ounce of Ignis’ willpower to wrestle his hormones into submission. Just a little longer. He’ll feed them and they’ll bunker down for the night and then he’ll sneak off and take care of this, this inconvenience.

Just a little longer.

* * *

_I think I broke something,_ Prompto frets. His nose is pulsating. Gingerly, he cracks open an eye and inspects his palm and yep, there’s the tell-tale smear of bug guts. “Gross,” he whispers as he wipes his hand down his chest, checking he hasn’t disturbed the others. There’s Noct, curled in the corner dozing like the dead. There’s Gladio, snoring to wake the dead. Some pair. Prompto doesn’t know much about algebra but Noct and Gladio’s sleep patterns must, like, cancel each another out or something.

And there’s—

Huh. No Ignis.

Prompto frowns. Iggy had been acting like a bunch of killer bees were buzzing around him all night. And what was with all that staring? Did Ignis _know?_ Prompto thought he’d been doing an excellent job of keeping his crush under wraps but now he wasn’t too sure. Six, if Ignis had even the slightest inkling…

 _Don’t even go there,_ Prompto tells himself, batting away more bugs as he sneaks out of the tent. The night is balmy, the haven runes casting the campsite in a soft blue glow that bounces off…  glass? Prompto’s brow wrinkles. The ground’s covered in shattered vials like something’s broken into their curatives stash. Prompto stills, canting his head in an attempt to pick up any out-of-the-ordinary sounds. All’s quiet aside from the chirping of crickets and water lapping at the muddy shoreline and that creature growling from behind the camp stove.

Wait, what?

Heart in his throat, Prompto edges towards the noise source. Maybe daemons have slinked inside the haven? Nah, impossible. A particularly loud sound comes from the meal prep area. _Shit._ Prompto summons his pistol, glances around the portable stove. Some indistinct hunched shape is panting in the dark. _Shit._ Prompto takes aim and…

_“Ignis?”_

Ignis trips over his trousers, falls onto his ass. His very naked ass. “Holy shit,” Prompto squeaks. He drops the gun and claps a hand over his eyes. “Shit, sorry, I’ll just, I’ll go, I’ll—”

“Prompto,” Ignis says, voice thick with need. “Prompto, wait.”

This is wrong. This is so, so wrong. He feels like the worst human being on Eos but Prompto can’t help the lick of desire that curls through him. He spreads his fingers and takes a peek.

Ignis is tugging his shirt down in a weak attempt at decorum, blown pupil gaze darting from Prompto to the ground and back again. A light sheen of perspiration glints off his pink-tinged skin. His hair’s a mess, an absolute mess, and in his twenty years Prompto’s never been more turned on. “The malboro,” Ignis grates. “I’ve tried waiting it out, remedies, cold water. I even…” He gestures helplessly and his shirt falls open, revealing the evidence of his desire.

“Yikes,” Prompto gulps.

Ignis looks positively miserable. The head of his cock pokes out from his black underwear, swollen and weeping. Prompto’s own dick twitches with want. “I can’t… reach completion on my own,” Ignis whispers and as if to prove it, he slides his underwear down, curling elegant fingers around himself and slowly pulling.

Prompto goes, “Iggy…” and it comes out as an obscene groan, making the blonde blush even harder. It's not fair, Prompto getting something he's only ever dreamed of, and the warring guilt and lust makes his stomach twist. He can’t tear his eyes away from the sight of Ignis stroking himself though. Surely there's a better way, or at least a way where they'll be able to look at each other come morning, but if Ignis said he'd tried everything already...

“Please,” Ignis utters, hips jerking, head tipping back to expose the milky white of his throat. Oh hell. Prompto sinks to the dew-damp ground, uncomfortably aware of how tight his pants are, of the fact that he hasn’t showered in three days, wondering what Ignis will think of him if he goes through with this. “Do you…” He doesn’t want to ask, not really, but. “Do you want me to grab the other guys?” Gladio would know what to do. Hell, even Noct would have a better idea. He’s known Ignis forever.

Ignis gasps. A large bead of pre-come leaks from the tip of his dick. “N-No,” he stutters. “You, it must be you. If, if you’ll have me.”

Whatever sliver of self-control Prompto’s been hanging onto until now snaps. “Okay. Okay.” He shuffles over, settling between Ignis’ legs and stroking up his thighs. The simple touch coaxes a powerful shudder from the older man, who continues rubbing himself like he can’t come fast enough. Mouth running dry, Prompto says, “You, ah, you want me to take care of that?”

Ignis _moans._ It’s the filthiest, hottest thing Prompto’s heard in his entire life, the low noise reverberating in his stomach, and he absolutely cannot deal anymore. He pushes Ignis aside and takes over. The sensation of Ignis’ cock, _Ignis’ cock,_ heavy and hot in Prompto’s hand, makes Prompto’s head spin. _Focus, dude, focus,_ he thinks but it’s impossible to concentrate with Ignis mewling beneath him so he does the only thing he can think to do: he shuts Ignis up with a kiss.

There’s a good deal of teeth, and even more spit, and Prompto doesn’t care a smidgen because this is Ignis, who he’s wanted since the first time he caught him fastening his suspenders. Ignis, who’s always so put-together and perfect, who he’s been jerking off to every other night until his dick’s raw. Ignis, who’s panting and needy and unravelling, and Prompto feels out every ridge and vein, marvelling at the way Ignis’ length spasms at the tiniest touch. With his free hand, he pops open Ignis’ shirt buttons, shoving the fabric aside to run his palm across the planes of Ignis’ chest. Ignis’ skin is fever hot, and Prompto has a fleeting thought about boundaries and taking advantage but then Ignis is fumbling with the hem of Prompto’s tank top, breaking away to lift it over Prompto’s head and toss it somewhere, anywhere else.

Before he can get further, Prompto dips his head and claims Ignis’ nipple, revelling in the way it instantly turns to a hardened nub under his tongue. He lavishes all his attention on the spot, stilling his other hand to a firm grasp and smirking when Ignis thrusts up, flushed and friction-hungry. “Prompto,” he hisses into the shell of Prompto’s ear. Prompto relents and twists his wrist just so, thumb swiping the head of Ignis’ dick, trailing pre-come down the shaft. “Prompto, stop—!”

Mortification floods Prompto’s face. “Sorry!”

Ignis fixes him with a lust-hazed gaze. “Stop _teasing,”_ he begs.

Prompto’s eyes widen. Ignis makes an impatient sound and stretches for the shelving beneath the stove, knocking over half the utensils with all his scrabbling. Finally, he shoves a bottle at Prompto, whose gaze zeroes in on the label. Olive oil. Gods, Prompto will never be able to perve on Ignis cooking again. “Seriously?” he asks, concern briefly flaring at the idea of the other guys finding them fucking in the dirt, but when he glances back down he’s met by Ignis pressing two fingers to his entrance. Clearly, the guy’s lost all sense of propriety.

“Seriously,” Ignis affirms, pushing to the third knuckle already and Prompto wonders how long he’s been at it. He meets Prompto’s stunned gaze. “I’ve wanted you for—” Gasp. “—for a long time now.”

“Oh,” Prompto breathes, heart skipping. In what reality are Prompto’s crushes ever reciprocated? He pinches the underside of his arm.

“N-Not a dream,” Ignis says, adding a third finger and okay, maybe he hasn’t completely lost his astuteness.

Prompto places a quick kiss against the corner of Ignis’ mouth before shimmying his pants down just enough for his dick to bounce free. He pours a liberal amount of lube onto himself, gnawing the inside of his cheek at the cool sensation. When Ignis notices he’s ready, he immediately withdraws, kicking off the rest of his clothes and coiling his legs around Prompto’s trim waist. The blonde obliges, lining himself up before slowly, _slowly_ sinking forward.

“More,” Ignis chokes out, snapping his hips up so Prompto’s buried to the hilt. The blonde’s mouth falls open in a soundless gasp. It’s like being chucked into Ravatogh or swallowed by the Infernian or something, and Ignis groans like relief, like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. Prompto slips almost the entire way out and slams back in again, stars flashing behind his eyelids. _“More,”_ Ignis sobs, nails raking fire trails down Prompto’s back.

Prompto hooks one of Ignis’ legs over his shoulder and picks up the pace, pounding the older man so hard that his balls audibly slap against Ignis’ buttocks with each thrust. Ignis’ groans escalate, tousled locks tumbling over his face, dick straining against his stomach and Prompto doesn’t want this to end, would bottle this moment and keep it forever if he could. A familiar heat’s building in his abdomen though, thrusts turning short and flurried against a backdrop of, _“Gods, yes, Prom, **please…!”**_

Prompto goes, “Iggy. _Ignis.”_ The tips of his fingers brush Ignis’ throbbing cock and that’s all it takes for Ignis to give a sharp cry and arch off the ground, pearly streams splattering across his chest. The blonde braces himself with both palms, eyes fixated on Ignis’ dazed expression as he rams into him, pillaging what he can. Impossibly, Ignis stays hard, peaking again, and again, and again until finally they’re coming together, tears trekking down Ignis’ cheeks as Prompto seals their mouths together in a sloppy, desperate kiss.

Prompto collapses, completely spent. Ignis gently nudges him off, chest heaving as he stares up into the night sky. “That,” he pants, “That was…”

Prompto scrubs a hand through his hair. “Crappy? I haven’t really done this a whole lot so…”

Ignis rolls over and traces his fingers across Prompto’s glistening mouth, painting a smile there. “Perfect, I was going to say. Thank you for looking after me. I wasn’t sure you’d be amenable to the idea.”

“Ignis.” Prompto catches his hand, kisses the nick on his index finger and presses it to the spot where his heart resides. “I’m more than amenable. I’m extra-menable.”

The corners of Ignis’ eyes crinkle as he smiles.

Prompto returns the grin. “Same time tomorrow?”

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me about the chocobros on [tumblr](http://eternal-harvest.tumblr.com)!


End file.
